so our new place has a patio...

My coffee and I sit and listen to the birds, waiting for drops to finally sink away from the bloated clouds overhead, changing our morning party into something else entirely.

Fat Riley, my cat, stares intently through the windowpane, carefully eyeing the teasing finches perched on the swaying bird feeder. His puffed-up tail shakes in a seizure-like manner, and I imagine he is making the spastic clicking sound he produces when in full-on hunting mode. Occasionally, Trash Can Sam, our 12-pound rescue puppy who no amounts of expensive human shampoo can make pretty, jumps hyperactive circles around him, a beckon to play.

Aesthetically, Sam is something between a disheveled Fraggle and Kramer from Seinfeld. Once homeless, he used to run around outside the classroom where I teach, until I finally took him home. People said things like, “He may be ugly now, but he’ll be so cute once he’s had a bath.” And those who continued to know us both undoubtedly feel awkward when they see him again; as it turns out, that was just the way Sam looked.

Riley has no interest in playing, so Sam cheerily humps him, the one thing that always gets Riley’s attention. Finally, the birds are free to snack in relative peace as Fat Riley and Trash Can Sam are engaged in matrix-like war-fare on the other side of the glass.